


A World Without Gods

by dangerheels



Series: The Liraverse [2]
Category: Ancient Egyptian Religion, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), F/M, Gen, Genderbending, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki's Kids, Magic, Multiverse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Revenge, Tags May Change, Torture, Violence, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-13 06:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerheels/pseuds/dangerheels
Summary: ***Set right after the end of Emerald and Ash, so you may want to read that first***At first glance, it looks like all of Loki's dreams have come true.  But when Loki learns of an unknown threat stalking the outskirts of his kingdom, Loki is forced to face the fact that not everything is as it appears...





	1. New

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I'm posting an unfinished work in the hopes that it motivates me to keep writing since it worked so well last time. Unlike Jewelheart, I don't have the plot totally hammered out yet, so please bear with me, and I will apologize now if there are some revisions as I go (though I will try to keep them as small as possible). Title is also tentative. Thanks for reading.

“Oh no you don't.”

The small white rabbit with the unblinking red eyes was trying to get away again.  As soon as Gaea had put him down, he shot off, bounding through the long grass as if freedom lay within sight--just over the tree-lined horizon, perhaps, or through a hidden hole in the ground.  Even though both he _and_ Gaea knew this wasn’t the case, the rabbit still ran and Gaea still swooped after him, easily gathering up his squirming form in one wrinkled hand.

Like a child gently admonishing a small pet, Gaea cooed into the rabbit’s ear: “Where do you hope to go, Brother Dear?  You know there is no escape.”

Like most rabbits, Set didn’t answer, but not because he didn’t understand or was incapable of speech.  He just wasn’t allowed to--in here, in his cage, Gaea had complete control, over his body _and_ his voice, the latter of which she had silenced after his last barrage of curses and insults, language she believed was unbecoming of an Elder God (and a brother).  But as Set continued to wriggle pathetically in her arms, Gaea’s resolve softened, just a tad, and she lifted the Silencing Spell.

 “Death!  Kill!  Murder!  Gorbellied _hedge-pig_!  I’ll bite your eyes out!  Raise my leg over your meadows, your woodlands, your _gently babbling brooks_!  The Earth will _burn_!  And as for your _precious humans_ , I’ll ram my--”

Nope.  Back went the Silencing Spell.

Resigned, Gaea sighed and leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree.  Then, unconsciously, the corner of her mouth quirked up in a small smile.  No matter how hurtful those words were, it was still amusing to hear such bold threats hurled at her from such a tiny voice.

“Be still Set,” she admonished distractedly, “or I'll feed you to Atum.”

The rabbit stopped its wringing promptly.

Through her fingers, Gaea could feel Set’s small heart start to beat even faster, betraying his heightened fear.  It hadn’t been a real threat, and Gaea’s smile faded.  Did Set think she would actually do such a thing?  She would _never_.  Not to her own brother.  No matter how evil he was…

But… she _had_ tried to do it.  She had.  When faced with a choice, eons ago, Gaea had chosen the small, powerless beings of Earth over family.

Suddenly, Gaea realized that the enchanted forest around her was silent.  She turned her head, looking around to see what had happened to her spell, and the branches and brambles that formed her hair made faint swishing sounds as she moved.  Where were all the animals, the insects, all her lovely creations?   _Lovely illusions_ , a voice in the back of her head whispered, and her large steady heart seemed to falter then slow.  She stood there, as still as the trees around her, fully aware of the eerie polarity between her heart and Set’s, the only sounds she could hear.  They had always been opposites, since the very beginning.  She was the Earth Mother--the light, the hope, the irrefutable proof of the goodness that lay within each human heart--and Set was the darkness: the Trickster, the destroyer, what he liked to call “the Hidden Truth of Humanity.”  The recent events of their little chess match had proven this.  Set had bet her that her beloved humans and young gods of Earth would turn savage when confronted by feelings and things they couldn’t understand--but they _didn’t_.  Despite Set’s machinations, her children had stared into the abyss and not lost themselves.  So much for Set’s deepest, darkest, truth that humans were like him and only him, _evil_.

Yet, somehow, Gaea felt like she still had to explain herself.  “I won fair and square,” she whispered to the silent woods around her.

 _Did you?_ the voice in her head countered, and for a brief, startling moment, Gaea thought that the phantom words had been from Set, his voice somehow freed from her control.  But Gaea could feel that her spell was still holding firm, and it left her wondering.  Had it simply been her imagination?  Absentmindedly, she settled back against the tree again, but this time, she couldn’t relax.

Suddenly annoyed, Gaea shook her head.  Now she was hearing things?  She needed to stop talking to herself.  Her inflated imagination was likely the byproduct of the trillions of years of lonely existence.  Her beloved mortal children couldn’t know her--it was hard enough for them to grasp the idea that _gods_ existed, let alone cosmic beings such as she.  As for the gods themselves, well, some knew of her and some didn’t, but in the end it mattered little--none had relationships with her.  This wasn't because of Gaea.  During Earth’s infancy, celestial beings more powerful than she had appeared without warning.  Using their considerable might, they banished Gaea for intervening with humanity’s early development (even though all she had done was attempt to nurture it).  Gaea’s mortal children would never know her.  But she could still observe them, so she settled in the nearby cosmos, surrounding herself with her fake forest, her beautiful Earthen mirage.  Her beautiful _lie_ , Set would often hiss at her, throughout the ages...

Ah yes, _Set_.  How could she forget?  Even after she was banished, she wasn’t truly alone.  She had her brothers, Set and Chthon, the only siblings who had managed to escape her champion son’s ravaging crusade.  Very soon into existence, Set had realized that he could grow more powerful if he ate his fellow Elder Gods.  One by one, they fell to him; they had only ever known him as a brother, after all.  Set had been the first murderer in the history of the planet-- _and_ it’s first demon.  The sibling Set _didn’t_ eat fell for his lies and copied him, becoming murderers themselves.  They filled the heavens, demons poised to devour the Earth or each other.  And Gaea was forced to make a choice.  Out of desperation, Gaea mated with the Demiurge in hopes that it would produce an heir that could put an end to Set’s savagery.  Which, luckily, it did.  From their union came _Atum_ , the first of the young gods.  Imbued with the power of the sun itself, her son consumed any demonized Elder in his path.  But even Atum couldn’t handle being filled with so many evil energies, so he devolved into the monstrous Demogorge, the God Eater.  Nothing would escape the God Eater’s insatiable appetite.  Eventually, all the Elders that remained were Gaea, Set, Chthon, and their benevolent younger sister Oshtur.  Set and Chthon ended up escaping the Demogorge by fleeing into other dimensions.  But Gaea was relieved: instead of being destroyed, her brothers had created their own prisons.  As long as the threat of the Demogorge remained, they could never go near the Earth again.  With only Gaea and Oshtur left, the Demogorge reverted back into Atum and went to live in the sun.  Oshtur, ever the curious one, left to explore the rest of the universe.  The Earth and the surrounding cosmos, were quiet once more.  And Gaea was alone.

The Earth Mother shook her head again.  Was this why she had acted the way she did?  Why she had challenged Set to the chess match in the first place?  And why she had cheated?  Because she was lonely?  Lonely _and_ selfish, Gaea thought with a sigh, angrily pounding a wrinkled fist into the tree trunk behind her.  But wasn’t that how the universe--the multiverse--was created?  Because of one creature’s loneliness?  She was just following in her maker’s footsteps...

Feeling somewhat calmer, Gaea pushed off of the tree.  She began to walk through her enchanted forest again, her chin held high.  For being so alone, Gaea felt like she had done the best she could.  Her slip up during Set’s game had been tiny; it was unlikely that the Celestials would notice.  And besides, Gaea nodded firmly to herself, it just couldn’t have been helped.  If Set’s actions during the chess match had caused her to witness the death of _yet_ _another_ one of her children, she would have torn her heart out.  Even moreso since this time, one of her favorite sons had been in the line of fire: _Thor_.

Just like the others, Thor did not know her.  Although she was saddened by this, she still looked in on him as often as she could, watching his transition from boy to man with great interest.  When he had fallen for a mortal woman, Gaea had been ecstatic--here, finally, was a god who understood her fascination with the tiny human planet.  But still, she could not approach him; when it came to this particular offspring, she had actually made _two_ promises, one to the Celestials and the other to his _father_.

Odin had not been the first Skyfather to come to her, but he did prove to be the most memorable.  He was a fine lover, reserved of voice but not of touch, and Gaea could understand why he was loved by such a strong and caring goddess as Frigga.  From the cosmos, Gaea had watched their struggle with Frigga’s infertility for many years, and when both had finally come to her, she had been touched (the Earth Mother was almost always forgotten, it seemed).  Gaea had hoped that her and Odin’s union would produce a child as golden as her first son--and it _did_.  Thor was a champion from the very beginning, and Gaea couldn’t have been prouder.

Watching Thor actually ended up having an unexpected aftereffect: wherever Thor went, there, too, was _Loki_.  After awhile, Gaea was watching the young Jötunn with as much interest as she did with Thor.  It was obvious to her that Loki walked in shadow.  The brighter her son got, the darker Loki seemed to become.  And it did not escape her notice that Loki had quickly become one of Set’s favorites to observe.  This worried her.

But she couldn’t interfere.  During her visits to Set’s prison, she would sit silently next to him as they looked down upon Asgard.  Every so often, Set would interrupt her focus to mock her: had she already forgotten about her precious Earth?  Her beloved, _pathetic_ mortals?  Gaea would never deign to give him an answer… but she would never leave either.  She sat and she stayed and she endured Set’s taunts.  His favorite thing to do was to try to predict what the young Trickster God would do next.  As the years went by, Gaea tried to ignore how many times Set ended up being right.

When Gaea saw that Set had both Thor _and_ Loki on his side of the chess board, she wasn’t surprised.  What _did_ end up surprising her was the presence of a face she hadn’t looked upon for some time now: her _granddaughter_.  Immediately, she had felt a twinge of guilt.  Just like Loki, here was another young god whose life had been a series of horrors, of hardships.  Could the girl have benefited from the Earth Mother’s supportive gaze, the subconscious belief that there was more to the cosmos than the cold expanse of space?  Possibly.  But… Gaea’s well-meaning eye had certainly not helped Loki...

And so, Gaea cheated.  If she and Set had actually been cordial, he might have even been proud: not only did she cheat during their game, she cheated death itself.  Oh, what a thrill it had been, to finally do what she wanted after so many years.  Never before had she felt so powerful, so triumphant, so… strangely close to her brother.  Even as she exerted her will over him (changing his preferred form into one more of her liking), and even as Set raged and cursed her name, Gaea felt as if she knew him, _truly_ , like she had finally understood his ceaseless desire to do what he wanted at all times (and at all costs).  That was when Gaea had finally allowed herself to believe it had all been worth it.

Gaea’s feet stopped their wandering.  She had reached the edge of a vast meadow, one she had filled to the brim with flowers.  As she began to step gracefully through the meadow, the woods around her were suddenly brighter and full of life, as if her illusions had simply been waiting for her arrival.  When she reached the middle of the clearing, she stopped.  Gaea looked down at the sleeping form of her granddaughter.  The girl was resting peacefully in the grass, looking very much like the sleeping beauty in one of Gaea’s favorite Earthen fairy tales.  For the first time since the end of the chess match, the Earth Mother allowed a contented smile to spread slowly across her face.

Her son was alive.

Her brothers were locked up peacefully in their cells.

Her granddaughter was safe; soon they would be united.

And as for Loki…

Gaea was _sure_ that at this very moment, he was having the time of his life.

 

* * * * *

 

“You should be ashamed.”

Loki’s smile fell from his lips.  Instead of a face full of relief, Thor had greeted him with a scowl.  Already this was _not_ the happy reunion that Loki had been hoping for.

“I am almost embarrassed to call you my brother.”

 _Brother_.  Even though Loki was slipping back into a familiar melancholy, there was a part of him that was thrilled to hear this word.  They were brothers, he and Thor.   _Blood_ brothers _._

“To be so close to victory,” Thor continued, a heavy glint of disappointment in his eyes, “and to be downed by a Marauder’s arrow.  And not even one from the chieftain himself.  Just some random little Marauder.”

There was something strange in Thor's voice, and it was so unfamiliar, it took Loki a moment to place.  Then he realized with a start: Thor was _joking_.  He was being sarcastic.  And doing it... _well_.  But _Loki_ had always been the sarcastic one.

“Well, _technically_ , he didn’t down me.”  Loki said with the smallest of hesitant smiles.  He spread his arms wide.  “I am still here.”

Thor continued to look stern for a moment, but then his brow lifted and a wonderful glowing smile appeared on his face.  “That you are,” he said gaily.  He threw a muscular arm over Loki's shoulders that sent Loki crashing into his side.  “And lucky for you, so was I.  After you fell, _I_ took the reigns of our army and drove the Marauders back.  Our victory was because of me.  Are you sure _I’m_ not supposed to be king?”

When the smile had appeared on Thor's face, Loki had all but melted into a puddle of relief.  But at these words, he stiffened up again.  Was Thor back to teasing him... but with a hint of truth behind the joke, like Loki used to do so often to _him_?  Was that resentment lurking behind those shining blue eyes?  Loki was so taken aback by this new, witty Thor, he didn’t know what to think.

And Thor’s smile _did_ change, but only to grow teasing once more.  “Relax brother.  I would never want to be king.  Looks dull as my blade on Freyrsday.”  Oblivious to Loki’s concern, Thor continued on merrily.  “When Eirun told me you lost your memory, I didn't believe him.  And I was right.  But…”  Finally, the relaxed smile on Thor’s vanished and his eyebrows drew together. “You told Skaldi you didn't know her.  Why?”

Loki cursed to himself.  He had forgotten that he was not supposed to know Thor, or anyone else!

“I… didn’t know her,” Loki replied lamely.  His tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“But you know me.”

“Er… Yes.”  Loki wanted to roll his eyes at himself.  He had never felt this stupid before.

Thor cupped his chin as he thought.  “Hmm.  Strange.  What is the last thing you remember of me?”

Loki froze.  His mouth fell open to answer but no words came out.  Desperately, his eyes darted around the chamber as if inspiration lay hidden in the walls.  The look on Thor's face was morphing into a dubious one, just like Skaldi’s expression had earlier.  Loki _had_ to answer!   _Say something, you imbecile!_ he urged himself.  “I… secretly magicked off your clothes while you were talking to, ah… Amora.”  As the echo of his words came back to him, Loki almost threw his hands up in frustration with himself.  That was an _awful_ lie.  What had happened to him?  His quick wit, his talent for deception?  Did his jaunt across the multiverse dull his brilliant mind?

But to Loki's great relief (and surprise), Thor grinned again.  “Yes, and that sure sped things up for Amora and I.  But that was five hundred years ago.  Is that really the last thing you remember?”

Weakly, Loki nodded.

“By the Ancients, it's true,” Thor said breathlessly, his eyes wide.  “Do you remember your marriage?  The births of your daughters?”

Loki was shaking his head (more in embarrassment to himself than anything else), but then he noticed something.  His eyebrows scrunched together.  “Your _hair_ ,” he blurted out before thinking.  Loki had never seen it so long.  It was almost touching Thor’s waist.

“ _Your_ hair,” was Thor’s indignant reply.  He reached out to flick one of the black strands by Loki's face… that Loki suddenly realized was hanging down by _his_ waist as well.  He had certainly never had his hair this long before (in his male form, at least).  Instinctively, Loki looked down at the rest of him.  It was hard to tell if anything else on his body was different, and Loki resolved to sneak away to find a full-length mirror at his earliest opportunity.

“This is madness _,_ ” Thor breathed, his blue eyes still wide and glued to Loki’s face.

 _You’re telling me_ , Loki thought dryly.   _At least_ you _didn't think you had died and then woken up to realize that, surprise! you actually_ hadn’t _died but had merely been transported into another body of yours from a different universe!  Oh, and by the way, this means the multiverse exists.  Have fun._

Loki so desperately wanted to say this aloud, to get the weight of it off his chest--but he didn’t.

Thor was still staring at him, and even though it seemed that (somehow) his brother believed him, Loki had to get away.  He needed to unpack his brain and kick it around a few times so that it started to behave better.  If Loki was going to navigate this new universe with a modicum of pitfalls, he would need his wits to be in tip-top shape, prepared for anything.

Such as Eirun bursting through the door with a scowl.

“ _You_ ,” he said sternly, pointing at Loki.  “Always giving me trouble, ever since you were a boy.  I would slap a sleeping spell on you _right now_ if I didn't know I’d have to carry you.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Thor told the healer cheerfully.  “I can carry him.”  He turned back to Loki, that astoundingly clever smirk spreading across his face again.  “But I can't guarantee I’ll catch you before you hit the ground.”

Loki gaped at him.  Once again, he was stunned.  Thor... joshing?  Quicker-tongued than he?  Loki didn't know what to do besides hold his arms up in surrender.  “I'll come willingly.”

The trio began walking.  Despite Loki’s compliance, Eirun was still grumbling.  “If that scar doesn’t fully disappear, I better not hear one complaint about it.”

Loki tried to unstick his tongue.  “Don’t worry, Eirun,” he said.  “I won’t complain.  Besides, what’s another small scar?”

He meant to sound facetious, to try and lighten the healer’s mood, but the frown on the man’s lips only managed to transfer to his brows.  Loki looked away before he could wilt under Eirun’s suspicious glare again.  How did Loki mess up this time?  It was just a small quip.  Suddenly weary, he bit back a sigh.  Hopefully, _hopefully_ , Eirun and everyone else would contribute Loki’s seemingly odd behavior to his “memory loss.”  And _surely_ , in no time at all, Loki would recover his poise, his confidence, and most of all, his skulduggery, and no one in this universe would ever doubt him again.  He was still the God of Lies, after all.

Er… wasn’t he?

 _I am well and truly fucked_ , Loki thought wryly to himself as he followed the men up the stairs and back to the healing chambers.

****

Loki was surrounded.  The moment he had climbed back into his bed, the whole of the castle seemed to descend upon him, the looks on their faces all demanding one thing: _answers_.  So much for sneaking off to compose himself and formulate a plan.  In twos and threes, they crowded him, the same question springing from their lips, “Do you remember me, my lord?”  “Do you remember me?”

Some he did.  He recognized Andhrímnir, the portly man with the long braided beard who had been the palace’s head cook in _Loki’s_ Asgard, but who (shockingly) appeared to be the _only_ cook here.  There was Grani, the stable master with the calm demeanor who had never failed to saddle and ride an untrained horse in more than half an hour (at least in Loki’s home reality).  He recognized several of Frigga’s handmaidens; Ásjá, the head maid; and even Fláráðr, the slimy chamberlain who looked to be just as louche in this universe.   But even though he recognized faces, he still had no inkling of the past he might have shared with them.  He was going to have to start keeping notes.   _Detailed_ notes.

After what felt like hours, the line to see him finally lessened.  But just when he thought the discombobulated feeling in his chest might ease up a bit, a face appeared in front of him that stopped his heart.

 _Amora_.

Her long blonde hair was tied up in fancy plaits and her clothes were luxurious, but everything else about her was the same: her beauty, her confidence, every curve, every small movement that had, at one point, captivated him in his past life.  Here she was, once more before him, his first real love--utterly, wonderfully, _alive_.  But _his_ Amora… his Amora _wasn’t_ alive, and the image of what he had done to her couldn’t help but flash in his mind, and he felt sick.

“Do you remember me, my lord?” she asked, her voice just like he remembered, as beautiful and alluring as the rest of her, but it only left him cold.

“Yes,” he whispered, before he could stop himself.

At this, she smiled, but it wasn’t coquettish or tinged with savagery like what Loki was used to.  It was a smile that Loki had never seen on the woman before: _happiness_.

“I’m so glad,” she said, clapping her hands together.  “When Thor told me what happened, I feared the worst.  But I knew you were in good hands.”  She said this last phrase loudly, her voice now full of affection and directed at Eirun as the healer walked back into the room.

Unsurprisingly, Eirun’s reply was a grunt.  He was awfully gruff for a god tasked with the well-being of others, and through Loki’s malaise, he felt a hint of amusement.

“Your attendants are as stubborn as you are,” the healer said to him, annoyance etched into every line of his face.  “I ordered that no one was to come into this room until you were healed, and what happened?  The whole castle came.”

“They just wanted to double check your skills, Eirun,” Amora said with a bright, teasing smile.  “To make sure that you were as masterly in the art of healing as you have always been.”

Eirun snorted.  “Am I already considered a relic?  I have grown _old_ , not decrepit.”

“And all the better for it,” Amora said, a loving twinkle in her eye.  “If the rest of us are blessed which such a spirit in our later years, we will be lucky indeed.”

Eirun didn’t respond.  He simply continued to look at Amora… but was that the smallest of smiles hovering around the edges of the healer’s lips?  Loki would never know, for a moment later, Thor burst into the room, filling it with his endlessly vibrant presence.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” he boomed, coming to stand by Loki’s bed.  “I have a list of prisoners taken from the battlefield, sadly no one exciting.  I suggest we pick a few for execution.  You might even want to do it yourself.  Half the battlefield saw you fall.  We don’t want the Marauders thinking that their defeat was anything but the humiliating disgrace that it was.”  He was so excited, Loki was all but shoved to the back of the bed by the piece of parchment in Thor's hand.  “Here, you pick two and I pick two.  Want to throw darts?  I want to throw darts.  Come on, get up.”

“Now is not the time for this--” Eirun began but Thor cut him off with a laugh.

“Don’t be daft, Eirun.  It’s always a good time for an execution.”  As if it had never left, Thor’s teasing smirk spread effortlessly across his face again.  He clapped Eirun on the back, knocking the man low.  “Besides, I thought you always worked quickly.  You getting slower, old man?”

Immediately, Amora and Loki looked at each, eyes wide with mock horror.  If there had been a smile on Eirun’s face earlier, it was certainly gone now.  Loki bit his lip, hiding a grin as he waited for the healer’s response.

But the healer simply looked at Thor, his mouth pressed into such a thin line, it was almost hidden by his beard.  Then…

“OUT!” he bellowed.  “Both of you, _out_!  I don’t want to see either of you back here until midwinter!”  And Thor and Amora were running comically out of the room, both laughing as they tried to keep the other from being the first one out the door.  “But I wanted to throw darts!” Thor’s voice called, his loud voice sounding mockingly dejected as it echoed down the hall.

Loki couldn’t help himself, he chuckled.  The Thor and Amora of this universe were simply delightful when they were together, and Loki couldn’t help but marvel at it.  How could things be so different from one universe to the next?  What had happened here to make them all (dare he say it) _friends_?

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get to ponder the idea further, at least at the moment.  At his chuckle, Eirun had turned to look at him, the annoyed glare firmly back on his face.  He pointed a finger at Loki, and before Loki knew it, the now-familiar pull of a sleeping spell sank its hooks into him, dragging him under.

But not before the hint of a smile curved up the corners of his lips....

****

Loki spent the next two days in bed, politely obeying Eirun’s commands.  The healer had him sleeping for the majority of the day, and his meals were merely soup and bread.  By now, his urge to wander was even stronger than the pain from his wound.  But Loki knew he needed to be patient.  It was his specialty, after all.   _Patience_.

It had been four days since he had been found “alive” on the battlefield, and still Sif hadn't come to see him.

Neither had Frigga and Odin...

Patience?   _What_ patience?  Loki was starting to get worried, his mind all but consumed with the need to find answers.  Four days into his new life and he had already grown listless.

When he had asked Eirun about his parents, a look of concern had come over the healer’s face, but he did not answer.  He had merely recited his usual spiel (firmly, so that Loki knew a sleeping spell was coming): “Don't worry about that now.  You need to rest.”

And rest, he did.  When he awoke on the eve of the fifth day, he felt like he never wanted to sleep again.  But just after he had decided that he was going to risk Eirun’s wrath by sneaking out, the man appeared at his side as if he had read Loki’s thoughts from a room away.

“Eirun,” Loki began.  He wanted to ask about Sif.

But Eirun merely held up an index finger, the strength of his countenance silencing Loki in an instant, even without the use of a spell.  There was something in his other hand, and when he raised it level with Loki’s eyes, Loki’s brow furrowed at the sight of it.   _Crows._  It was a small statue of two crows in flight, their wings spread wide and circled around each other.  Made out of black crystal, it glimmered as it caught the light from the torches, looking like it was exquisite enough to be housed in Odin’s--Loki’s--Treasure Room.  And maybe it _had_ been.  It was an artifact.  Loki could tell.  He could also tell that it was powerful.  Even if he had been several feet away, he _still_ would have been able to feel the invisible waves of magic encircling it.  What was it?

Without even acknowledging the curious look on Loki’s face, Eirun began to chant.

 _Black of night_  
_Hear my call_  
_Your winged flight_  
_To Asgard’s hall_

 _Nine worlds seen_  
_Thoughts will burn_  
_In realms between_  
_Mem’ry firms_

 _Draw thee near_  
_O secret sight_  
_A whisper here_  
_Thy words ignite_

A white light began to glow around the statuette, and Loki bit back a gasp.   _Oh no_ , he thought.  He didn’t recognize the figurine _or_ the words, but regardless, he knew what they were: a spell to restore a person’s memory.  Would this magical object have the power to reveal his ruse?   _Oh no, oh… shit!_

Beneath his wound, he could feel his heart start to race.  But further below that was… something else.  Something he had felt before, but only in his most rage-filled moments.  An eerie blackness--awakening, swirling, folding in on itself like a snake eating its tail and growing stronger for it.  It was his magic, and if he happened to be _still_ harboring doubts about being alive, this certainly alleviated them.  The power surged through him like electricity, sparking from nerve ending to nerve ending, zapping each one to life until he felt like he could feel the air itself.  And before his shocked mind could react, his magic swooped up to encircle the statuette.  Black consumed white, engulfing the light from Eirun’s magic like a hawk would a swallow.  And then--

_Crack!_

The statuette split in two and fell from Eirun’s hand.

Startled, Loki sucked in a breath.  He looked at Eirun.  The healer was peering down at the pieces, his expression hidden from Loki’s view.  Then his eyes rose.  He looked back at Loki, his gaze no longer grumpy or annoyed but… blank.  It was a look that was strange on the man’s face, like a mask that didn’t quite fit.  And Loki was suddenly nervous.  He knew that Eirun hadn't _seen_ his magic, but had he _felt_ it?  And why was it acting that way to begin with?  Why couldn’t Loki control it?

He hastened to ease the tension, adopting a perplexed look.  “What happened?”

“It appears your memory loss is… deeper than I originally thought,” Eirun replied slowly, that odd, vacuous expression still smoothing out the lines on the man’s face.  He was still looking in Loki’s direction, but it was obvious that he wasn’t actually “seeing” him.  He reached up to cradle his chin with his hand.  “What could have caused it?” he murmured, as if to himself.  “The arrow…  It must have been magicked.  Cursed…  But how?  And why?”

Loki bit his lip, trying to keep his emotions--and his magic--from spinning out of control again.  He had only known the man for a few days, but already he could guess that this quiet, contemplating behavior was unusual for him.  Loki needed to distract him.

“Well, I have no doubt that you’ll find a solution, Eirun,” he began, hoping that he sounded confident but not patronizing.  “And in the meantime, well...” Loki hazarded a small smile.  “At least I’m alive.  Right?”  When Eirun didn’t react, Loki hesitated, unsure if he should risk saying what he wanted to say next.  But he so desperately wanted to lighten the healer’s strange mood, and one of the best modes of distraction was telling a parallel truth.  “It’s like a rebirth,” he said, his voice soft with intent. “A new beginning.”

At this, Eirun blinked a few times as if he was rousing himself from sleep.  “Yes...  Indeed,” he murmured.  His eyes flicked down to look at Loki’s chest.  Instinctively, Loki looked down as well, and his jaw dropped.  Eirun’s healing magic had worked: his wound was gone--completely.

“Hmm,” the healer said, still betraying nothing of what he was thinking.  “You may go.”

“Er… what?”  Loki was taken aback.  He couldn’t have heard him properly.  The healer who had been so adamant that he stay all but locked in this room was now wanting him to leave?  Were those words even in the man’s vocabulary?

“You are released,” Eirun said, more firmly this time.  He waved an impatient hand.  “Up and out.  I have to prepare the room for the cleansing spell.”

Loki opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it.  With nary a wince, he got up from bed and out of the healer’s way.  The endearing gruffness that was a hallmark of Eirun’s character was slowly returning, and Loki didn’t know whether to laugh or grow more concerned.  He settled on relieved.

“Do nothing strenuous for at least a week,” Eirun said as he began to magick the covers off of the bed and into a nearby basket.  He looked pointedly at Loki.  “Leave the executions to the executioner.”

Already, Loki was nodding.  “Yes.  Yes, Eirun.  Thank you.”  He was probably being too earnest, but he didn’t care.  “You saved my life.  I will be forever grateful, and in your debt.”

Eirun’s eyes flicked back up to his.  They weren’t blank (thankfully), but there _was_ an expression in them this time: a fierce contemplation, as if the man could see into the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

Loki almost sighed. _Yep_ , he thought to himself, sardonic once again (but this time more resigned).   _Well and truly fucked._

Eirun tilted his head respectfully, the look in his eyes lightening just a smidge.  “It was nothing, my lord.”  And just when Loki thought that his deception was truly done for, Eirun shooed him out of the room, only _slightly_ less emphatically than he had done with Thor and Amora earlier.

But Loki didn’t go far.  He stood in the hallway just outside the door to the healing chambers.  A chilly breeze was whistling through the open windows, and Loki filled his lungs with it, feeling pleased when pain didn’t stab his chest like it had the days before.  His awareness spread to the rest of his body.  He felt… normal.  Astoundingly, gloriously, _normal_.  But he wasn’t normal; he was better than that.  He was... _new_.  He looked around the dim hallway and at the fieldstones that lined the walls.  They were so different from what he had grown up with.  There, the precious metals infused in the walls would have been buffed daily (usually before dawn), so that the palace was bathed in a near-constant glow.  A place named “The Realm Eternal” deserved no less.  But here, everything was so much smaller--simpler--and he didn’t know whether to be intrigued or dismayed.

Loki shook his head at himself, feeling amused.  It was _so like_ him to be standing there alone and contemplating rocks while a whole universe lay before him, practically begging him to uncover it.  There was so much to do, so much to explore.  So many people to know, again, or for the first time.  He was the All-Father; he could do anything.  But… there was only one thing he wanted to do, something that had tugged at his mind ever since he awoke in this strange other-world of dreams and discovery, his “ Asgard of Second Chances.”

He needed to see the All-Mother.  He needed to see _Sif_.

Not knowing where she could be, he picked a direction and started walking.

****

“I’m lost,” Loki declared to the air with an annoyed sigh.  “This castle is only half as big as the one I grew up in, and… I’m lost.”  Yes, the castle was smaller, but it was haphazard, like it had been constructed by a trickster djinni bent on rebelling against its master’s command in the only way it could: by making parts of the castle more confusing than they appeared at first glance.  Narrow stairways would curve around turrets in seemingly endless loops, but getting to your desired floor was a roll of the dice, what with the occasional bricked up wall where a doorway should have been.  Sometimes the ceilings hung low over Loki’s head, utterly stifling; other times they rose up, cavernous, the echo of his footsteps so loud, he felt like he could wake the Disir.  He had passed several attendants on his way, but he dared not question them--he still needed his time to himself.  His inquisitive feelings had just started to morph into exasperation when he turned a corner and stopped dead.

It was _her_.

He remembered the first time he had looked upon her with new eyes, eyes that had blinked away the boyishness of youth.  It had been many years ago during the annual Yuletide Celebration.  As was customary, the Great Hall was decked out in the most wondrous of wintertide splendor.  Lines of holly snaked their way around columns and across the ceiling, and the various spruce and pine trees nestled throughout the hall made it seem like Loki was walking through the royal forest.  The four long tables were covered with so many delicacies, they could feed the whole of the Asgardian army for at least a month.  Despite being packed to the brim with people, food, and decorations, the Great Hall felt like it was twice as large as normal, and Loki slipped through it all with ease, growing increasingly more content as he sipped from the mug of mead he was holding.

He had been thinking about how he could trick Thor into eating a pastry filled with manure instead of jam when he saw her.

She was standing in the northwest corner of the hall, her hands clasped shyly behind her back and her head tilted low.   Loki couldn’t see her face, but he _could_ see the wide smiles of Thor, Fandral, and the other boys that surrounded her.  All were looking stunned, as if this was the first time they had truly laid eyes on her.  Which, indeed, it _was_.  As if she had sensed him approach, she turned and Loki’s jaw all but unhinged itself.

Gone was the the wildness of her hair, the shapelessness of her clothing, the dirt under her fingernails.  Instead, her shining blonde locks fell like a golden veil to her waist.  She wore a wreath of holly on her head and silver baubles on her ears.  Her bright red skirt blossomed to the ground like a rose, and the corset she wore seemed to emphasis places on her body that Loki had never noticed before: the curves of her hips; her small waist; the smooth, pale skin that stretched across her shoulders, upper chest, and back.  Her neck was bare but it didn't matter: the winking firelight that danced across her collarbone looked as if it could outshine even his mother’s lavish jewels.  Her eyes were large, the lashes impossibly long, and Loki gaped as he gazed upon a face alight with wonderment, as if she herself could not believe that she was there looking the way she did.

And Loki did not know what to do.  When he had spotted her, his insides had twisted strangely, leaving him deathly uncomfortable and rooted to the floor.  He certainly was not going to approach her, no matter how rude it may seem.  What would he say?  His brain seemed to be both frozen _and_ firing at the speed of light.

But Loki needn’t have worried.  It appeared that _Thor_ was going to decide his actions, like he so often seemed to do.

“Brother!” Thor called, waving a large hand.  “Come here!”

The sigh that expelled from Loki’s mouth seemed to unfreeze his legs but not his chest, and as he trudged slowly towards the circle, he felt like he could barely breathe.  When he reached the circle’s outer ring, the coterie did not part to let him in (forcing him to hover awkwardly around its edge), but for once, he barely noticed.  Sif’s eyes were on him, he could feel them, and he looked down, fighting the urge to flee.

Thor was waving a lofty hand.  “Look, Loki,” he said, his voice like it usually was, loud and embarrassing.  “Our fierce warrior Sif has turned into a lady!  Why, she looks just as deadly in a dress as she does in armor!”

This caused Sif to turn towards Thor with an approving smile, but before Loki could say anything, Fandral had stepped into the circle’s center.

“No offence to you lads,” he said, charm oozing from every pore, “but I would much rather see _this_ standing across from me in the sparring room than your ugly mugs.”  Smoothly, he turned to Sif.  “That’s as long as you could wear that dress and still pin me to the ground like you usually do,” he drawled to her, a suggestive wink all over his face, and she blushed.

“You know I could,” she said, punching a small fist into his shoulder.  Dramatically, Fandral reeled back, clutching his arm as if she had struck him for real, and everyone laughed.  Everyone… except Loki.

Which Thor had noticed.

“What do _you_ have to say about our Lady Sif, Loki?” Thor said loudly, and as all eyes fell on him, Loki felt heat snake its way up his neck.  Sif turned towards him again, a shy smile on her lips and her skirt in her hands, holding it wide as if for his inspection.

Normally, Loki could have let fly a deflecting phrase that would have left all of their heads spinning.  But this time, he hesitated.  There was a strange electricity in the air, sparking from boy to boy, a feverish, aggressive energy that seemed impossible to understand--or overcome.  He had never felt so off kilter.  And Loki did not know what to do about it, except to do what he usually did: attack the source.

He opened his mouth and a lie came out.  “All I see is ruined potential.  Now you are like all the rest.”

The words had been barely a whisper, but Sif, and the circle, heard them.  Loki would never forget the way she had looked at him then, the way her beautiful face had seemed to freeze, then crumble, then harden.  When she drew closer to him, he could see the tears glistening in the corners of her hate-filled eyes.

“I am not ruined,” she hissed at him, her finger stabbing into his chest.  “I am not.  I can still beat you no matter what I’m wearing.  But don’t worry, come this time tomorrow, _I_ will remind you.”

As she turned and stomped away, the kinetic energy that had surrounded them seemed to fizzle then die completely.  The festive noise from the hall rose up to fill their ears again, but Loki could still feel the dark murmurs and disappointed stares of his peers.  Slowly, the group disappeared into the crowd, but not before Thor had muttered what the rest could not.

“You’re such an ass, Loki.  No wonder no one likes you.”

And Loki was alone again.  He stood there, frozen once more, mentally prodding the blackness that now swirled in his heart until it raged.  By now, the darkness within had become both an old friend _and_ the only thing that comforted him; by now, it was so easy for him to convince himself that this feeling, this piercing emptiness, was not half as painful as being wracked by emotions he couldn’t understand.

The next day, she bested him, spectacularly, just like she had promised.  But as he lay sprawled on the training room floor, looking up at her unsmiling face, Loki knew that his sins were not forgiven, despite his embarrassing defeat.  None of them would see Sif in a dress again until they were well into adulthood.

Time, it appeared, did not heal _all_ wounds.

As the embers of this painful memory faded into the air, Loki’s face was so hot with guilt and embarrassment, he wanted to be swallowed up by the ground.  He could hardly believe what an idiot he had been in his youth.

 _But not now_ , he thought fiercely to himself.   _And no longer.  A new start, remember?  Make things right.  Have to make things right..._

As Loki came to a stop in front of her, he tried to blink away the past--his barbed words, his hateful heart--and see her with new eyes.

And it was easy.

She was exquisite.  Loki himself could never have conjured up such a beautiful creature.  She was tall, her head held so high, Loki’s eyesight couldn’t help but fall on the lovely length of her neck and the strength in her shoulders.  Her eyes were the color of the midwinter sky, and her blonde (blonde!) hair shone like the moon on spidersilk.  Her lips were wide and pale pink, and though they were currently at rest, they held the promise of a thousand-thousand different moments, of smiles or laughs or whispered words in the dark.  The fierce confidence of her presence only seemed to amplify her beauty.  Surely, the Sif of this universe was a warrior queen.

But was she his?

Her clothes were rich and well-tailored, but she was wearing pants instead of a dress, and Loki didn't know whether to be pleased about this or concerned.  Also, her only reaction to his abrupt appearance had been a slight eyebrow raise, and Loki was suddenly nervous, his breath caught tightly in his throat.  But after an awkward moment of silence, he forced an exhale, setting free her name on his tongue.

“ _Sif_ …”

Still, all she did was look at him, and Loki found himself unconsciously trying to make up for the silence by using too many words.

“I was just trying to find my...our… the retiring room--or, _rooms_ \--or--er...”  A short, nervous laugh escaped his lips, and he shrugged sheepishly.  “I'm sorry, I-I don't remember…”

She only continued to look at him, and Loki's stomach twisted uncomfortably, just like it had done on that fateful day in the Great Hall, a childhood (and a universe) away.  It appeared nothing had changed.  When it came to Sif, he was still an idiot.

But then she blinked, and something in the air around them seemed to shift.  Her back and shoulders relaxed, and--(Loki hoped he wasn't imagining it)--a small smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.

“It’s good to see you up and about, my husband.  Come, I’ll take your to our chambers.”

 _Our chambers_.

“I see Eirun’s skillful fingers have worked their magic yet again,” Sif said, her tone blessedly light as Loki fell into step beside her.  “And much faster than I had anticipated.”

“You weren’t the only one surprised,” Loki said, amusement coloring his voice for the first time.  He was starting to feel better.  “I fear Eirun was most surprised of all.  I was starting to feel like he wouldn’t let me leave until I had developed unbreakable skin.”

Sif snorted and the smile on her lips seemed to widen ever so slightly.  “We are blessed to have him.  He takes his craft very seriously, and it shows.”

“‘ _Very_ seriously?’  I can think of a few other adverbs to use.  ‘Exceedingly, immensely, severely--’”

“Thoroughly, artfully, attentively,” Sif countered playfully, and Loki’s laugh echoed down the hall.   _This… this is good_ , he thought.   _A good start..._

Abruptly, Sif came to a stop and Loki looked around.  They hadn’t gone far.  They were facing a plain but heavy-looking oak door, the only one in the dimly-lit hallway.   Apparently, their chambers had only been around the corner from where he had gotten lost.

 _Figures_ , Loki grumbled to himself.  He was trying to hold back an eyeroll, when he felt Sif touch his arm.

“Remember when I had Mistle?  Afterwards, Eirun wanted to keep me there, in bed, for two weeks!”  She turned to look at him, and much to Loki’s delight, her smile had turned mischievous.  “That didn’t work out too well for him.  The summer games were in a week, and I was _not_ going to miss them.  And that year, I even beat you at the axe, sword, and halberd.”

This seemed more like the Sif he knew, and Loki grinned, first at her and then at the strength of his relief.

But it was over all too soon.  In a matter of seconds, the smile that had brightened her lovely face was gone, replaced by an odd searching expression, as if she couldn't believe they were standing there talking to each other.  “Do you remember?” she asked him quietly.

_He didn’t._

Slowly, sadly, he shook his head.

“Do you remember... us?”

Loki looked at the ground.  He didn't want to answer her, didn't want to speak it aloud, to make it real.  But he had to.

“No,” he whispered.  “But I…”

What did he want to do?  He wanted to touch her, to hold her and never let go.  To know their children and watch them grow.  To be normal, to be whole _, at last_.  “I want to remember,” he said finally.   _Desperately, exceedingly, immensely._  “I want to remember.  Everything.”

At this, Sif remained silent, and Loki couldn’t help but think about quiet moments such as these and how so much could change in the space between words.  Had he and the Sif of this universe already used up all of the quiet moments they were meant to have?

Sadly, his question would go unanswered.

“You will,” was all she told him, her voice low and void of emotion.  “I am sure of it.”

And without another word, she reached between them and grasped the door handle.  With a tug and a loud creak, the door swung open and she stepped through.  Silently, Loki followed.

For being the personal quarters of the king and queen, the room, like the rest of the castle, was practically spartan.  The walls were plain, devoid of paintings, pennants, tapestries, or any other personal mementos.  The room was taller than it was wide, and the only things adorning the slanted ceiling were long wooden panels.  Except for a soot-covered stone fireplace, there were hardly any furnishings in the room, but Loki barely registered this.  What had immediately caught his attention was a large hand-carved bed sitting in the room’s middle.  It was low to the ground and so wide, it could probably fit three people comfortably.  The headboard was also low, and although the tufted comforter that stretched across it was simple and colorless, it was still enough to call to Loki--suddenly, the bed was the most plush and comfortable thing he had ever seen, and he wanted to fall into it.  To fall into it with _Sif_.

He ran a hand across a soft, down-filled pillow.  It was cool, but Loki’s touch was warm and getting warmer, and soon he was all but hurting with need.  Until now, he hadn’t realized how close he was to being crushed by the weight of all that had just happened to him.  Dead, alive, hollow, full--it was all too much, and when things were too much, Loki usually wanted to do one thing: _know_ _someone_.

Slowly, Loki turned to look back at Sif.  Here, they were husband and wife, and this alleviated his nerves somewhat, but still he did not move.  There had always been a coldness between them, and in this universe, it seemed no different.  So much for his new beginning.  A cold fire, a painful, icy burn.  Was this all he was ever meant to have?  

Apparently, it _was_.

“It’s getting late,” Sif said.  “You should probably get some rest.”  She strode to a door on the opposite side of the room, one Loki hadn’t noticed until now.  “I think I shall retire as well,” she said as she pulled the door open.

Loki’s reply was automatic.  “Oh, okay, yes.”

Separate rooms.  They slept in separate rooms, on separate beds.  They were married but not lovers-- _of course_ they weren't lovers.  He should have known.

Sif was half-way through the door when she stopped.  Her bright blue eyes found his face again, but it was impossible to know what she was thinking.  “Good night, my king,” she murmured, and then she was gone.

And Loki was alone.

There was a chill in the air, permeating every hallway and every room.  He hadn’t been aware of it at first, but now it was all he seemed to feel.  Lies, betrayal, pain.  Unwanted, unloved.  All his fault.

It was all his fault, he was sure of it.

He looked up.  Cascading from the ceiling were two airy, white curtains that were moving slightly as if by an invisible hand.  As Loki watched, a particularly strong gust of wind whooshed through the curtains, along with (Loki was surprised to see) several large flakes of snow.  Furrowing his brow, Loki parted the curtains and stepped through…

...and was met with _cold_ \--freezing, burning cold.   Actual _, physical,_ cold.

He had stepped onto a large balcony.  Before him should have stretched all the glory of his kingdom, but all he could see was _white_.  His castle, it seemed, was not the golden one of his childhood.  It wasn’t surrounded by bodies of crystalline water or gorgeous, sun-filled clouds.  There were no waterfalls, no endless rows of columns, or towns teeming with life.  No, this Asgard was simply a plain, moderately-sized castle surrounded by large frozen peaks and dark, snow-blanketed forests.  There were no towns, or people, in sight.  The wind picked up again, and Loki was suddenly seized with a wave of aggressive shivers.  He shook his head as he wrapped his robe tighter around himself.  His old Jötunn skin would have _easily_ served him well in this universe--but, _of course_ , it was too late.

When it came to Loki, everything was always too late.

“I don't know if I can do this,” he whispered into the wind.  Suddenly, death was looking much more appealing...

But then he snorted.

“Don't be daft, Loki,” he said, loudly, so that his frozen heart was sure to hear it.  “A whole new universe before you, remember?”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back inside.


	2. What Strange Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I realize that I really like poems and things with three heads.

The next morning, Loki was woken up by a rabbit dancing on his head.  Or... at least he thought it was a rabbit.

Groggily, he reached up a hand and seized the offending thing around its middle.  Fighting the unconscious urge to fling it across the room, he blinked the haze of sleep from his eyes and sat up.

And realized that he hadn’t been dreaming.  There _had_ been a rabbit on his head, but it wasn’t a real one.  It was a toy...

…that likely belonged to the child sitting in the bed next to him.

She was young and slight and likely no taller than his knee.  Her wild brown hair and wrinkled bedclothes seemed to suggest a constant state of discovery, like she had just spent the last hour crawling through shrubbery or chasing after creatures that only she could see.  Everything about her reminded him of Sif: the pale skin; the inquisitive spirit radiating off of her in waves; the delicate features that hinted at a future elegance…

But her _eyes_.  She had inherited her father’s eyes.

Loki was suddenly very awake.  She--was--

His _daughter._  His and Sif’s.

Loki was suddenly very uncomfortable.  It was like there was something wedged deeply in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe.   _No_.  It _couldn’t_ be.  He couldn’t have created something so lovely, so… _good_.  Not him, not the murderer, and for a wild moment he was overcome with the desire to scare her, to see his true self reflected in her eyes.  She was just sitting there beside him, head tilted up towards him, and the look in her eyes was so foreign, so _untrue_ , he knew he had to be dreaming.  Surely the look was her wanting something from him: to be fed, to be picked up, carried around, doted on--or maybe it was simply curiosity, a childlike desire to stare at him, to gawk and point at him like a monstrous freak in a cage. _Surely_ it wasn't something like… love.

Too much.  It was too much, whatever he was feeling, and as Loki sat there, a picture of calm on the outside, he did all he could to stop himself from throwing his head back and yelling wordlessly at the ceiling.  He had a daughter--he had two of them!  How was he supposed to feel about this?  Happy?  Relieved?  Wondrous?  Was he automatically supposed to feel some sort of kinship with this child, a relationship?  And if he didn’t (and he didn’t) did that mean he was a bad father?  Did he even care if he was a bad father?  Yes, of course he cared--wait, no he didn’t, why would he?  She wasn’t _really_ his--well, sort of, but--

Loki sighed.  There was _one_ thing he knew for certain: if fatherhood was supposed to feel like absolute terror, then he was already doing an excellent job.

He looked back down at the girl.

“Mistle, is it?” he said, arching an eyebrow.  “Did your mother name you?”

She only continued to look at him.  He turned his head, noticing for the first time that the door to his bedroom was ajar.  “How did you get in?  I am certain I locked the door last night.”

Still she was silent, and Loki frowned.  Maybe she wasn’t old enough to understand him.

“Do you speak?” he asked.

A blink.

“Do you understand me?”

A head tilt, a shy smile.

Loki sighed again.  He had no idea if this was the proper way to engage a child.  “Hmm.  Er… how old are you?”

And to Loki’s surprise, she finally answered--but not with words.  She raised a tiny hand, fingers spread, and curled her thumb against her palm.

“Four.  So... you do understand me.”

A nod.

“But you do not speak?”

Silence.

“Do you.. not know how?”

Nothing, not even a shrug.  Loki’s brow furrowed.  Shouldn’t a child have learned to speak by now?  Could something be wrong with her?  Instinctively, he reached out a hand and placed light fingers under her chin, lifting it towards him.

“Smile,” he said, and she did, widely, displaying rows of white baby teeth.  Loki felt the corner of his mouth twitch at the sweetness of her expression, but he quickly returned to what he was doing, searching for any deformities that might explain why a child of four-- _his_ child--did not yet speak.

“Say ‘ahhhhh’ and stick out your tongue,” he instructed.  When she didn’t move,  he tried again, this time sticking out his own tongue as an example.  “Come on, say ‘ahhhhhhhh…’”

She only smiled wider at him, and Loki glared at her in mock-annoyance for a moment before his expression lightened.  The innocence radiating from her face was strangely soothing, and Loki found his near-constant irritation slowly evaporating into the cool air.  But despite this, he _still_ had no idea how to get her to obey his request, and he was just about to give up when an idea popped into his mind.

“Hmm.  When I was younger, my mother, like all mothers, would tell me fairy tales before I went to sleep.  But that was where the similarities ended, for my mother’s tales weren’t the typical fare--” here, Loki’s voice rose dramatically and he punctuated each word with a stab from an invisible sword--“where the hero _takes_ up a sword, _slews_ the villain, _saves_ the town, and _wins_ the fair maiden’s hand in marriage.  They always had some strange twist, which I loved.  And one night, she told me what would quickly become one of my favorite nursery rhymes: her version of the Tooth Fairy.  Want to hear it?”

The girl nodded, and Loki sat up straighter and cleared his throat.  Then he hunched over, scrunched up his face, curled his fingers into “claws,” and his voice took on an exaggerated (but not _too_ scary) growl.

_“Into your room I quietly creep_  
_To rouse you from your counting sheep_  
_But don’t be alarmed, I just need one thing_  
_To tie your tooth to this here string_  
_Who am I, you ask?  I feel your concern_  
_My name one day you’ll properly learn_  
_Some call me a fairy, some call me a robber_  
_Denials of which I have nothing to offer_  
_Just one little tug, no don’t start to cry_  
_Or quickly you’ll learn I’m not one to defy_  
_Dawn is approaching, there’s no time to talk_  
_Let’s get right down to it, open up and say ‘Ahhhhhhhh’”_

Once more, he stuck out his tongue at her, but more exaggerated this time--his attempt at comically encouraging her to do the same--but, of course, she didn’t.  Instead, she giggled, a twinkling bell of a laugh, and Loki’s arms fell into his lap in exasperation and he looked sternly at her...  _until_ he realized that she had finally done what he had asked: produce a sound.  Before he knew it, he had matched her wide grin.

But, like always, his mind continued to turn, and all too soon the smile on his face had been pushed aside and the frown slotted firmly back in place.  More and more it was looking like her malformation was cognitive, not physical.  What could have happened to her?  Loki cupped his chin as his eyes roamed the walls of his bedroom, but they soon came to rest on the child once more.  Absentmindedly, he drummed his fingers on the tops of his thighs.  He could use his magic.  Slipping into her mind would be easy--it was unlikely that a child as young as she had suffered what usually caused the development of mental barriers.  All he would need was one quick look.  He raised his hand, drawing the spellwords up through the mists of his mind and to the surface.

And just as he had opened his mouth to speak, the girl looked away from him.  Loki pursed his lips.  She would need to be looking at him for the spell to work.

“Mistle,” he said.  “Mistle, look here.”

She didn’t.  Instead, she reached forward and grasped the ear of a well-loved plush rabbit that had been splayed on the bed between them.  Holding it by its floppy arms, she walked it towards him, rocking it from side to side and causing its head to bob.  Loki watched in puzzlement for a moment before he realized that she was making the rabbit “dance” for him.  This is what had woken him up this morning, and Loki found himself snorting in amusement.  He called her name a few more times, and just barely stopped himself from whistling at her.   _She is not a dog_ , he grumbled angrily to himself.  But then he had an idea.  Surely, he would have her attention if he made the rabbit dance in the air above her head without touching it.

A Levitation Spell was one of the easiest spells to master.  As a child, Loki learned it so quickly, it was if he had been born with the ability.  Loki couldn’t count the number of times he had done it throughout the years with hardly a thought, so when his fingers twitched and the spellwords left his mouth, he had naught a worry in the world.

At first, everything was fine.  Loki felt his fingers warm as his magic swirled out of them, completely invisible.  Mentally, he nudged the stream towards the rabbit, and barely a second had passed before the toy was rising in the air between them.  Mistle’s eyes widened in wonder, and Loki felt himself grin.  Now the rabbit was posed and swirling in the air above their heads like a weapons dancer in a music box, and Mistle was giggling again, her hands stretching up towards it.  With his mind now occupied by her delighted reaction, Loki sent another burst of magic towards the rabbit, wanting it to somersault down towards her, _but_ \--

Loki felt a quick flurry of air, then everything went black as his hair flew over his head to cover his face.  Surprised, he swept it out of the way and looked around.  Strangely, Mistle’s long hair had blown over her face as well, covering everything except her legs and making her a silly sight… which Loki might have laughed at if his attention hadn’t been immediately diverted by the rabbit.

It lay between them on the bed, its arms and legs still spread in a dancer’s pose--except now, it was _headless_.

Loki sucked in a breath as he watched the toy’s head roll towards him and come to a stop against his knee.  He knew exactly what had happened for it had been _him_ : his magic had sliced through the neck of the rabbit like an invisible sword.  But... that wasn’t at all what he had wanted!  Just what was _wrong_ with him?  If he had unintentionally done that to the rabbit, he could have also hurt--

Immediately, he looked back at Mistle, concern rising in his throat.  His hands hovered awkwardly around her until he remembered that he _could_ touch her, he was her _father_ , and so he grabbed her around the shoulders.

“Are you all right?  Are you hurt?” he asked, trying not to panic.  He couldn’t feel anything wrong with her, and she wasn’t crying, but he was still quite unnerved.  He could barely remember a time in his past life when his magic hadn’t obeyed a single command, and now, in _this_ life, he couldn’t remember a moment when it had.  This… this was not good.  He hated feeling so out of control, so... _dangerous._   He was like a curse, an incantation gone wrong (or gone _right_ ), a ticking time bomb of a spell set to annihilate everyone around him--exactly like he used to dream about.  Just when his traitorous mind began to remind him of the horrid images that used to fill his thoughts--the death, the murder, the destruction--Mistle stirred, and his attention snapped back onto her.

With an air of quiet calm, she had raised both hands and casually pushed the hair back off of her forehead as if it had simply been a too-large hat.  Now she was looking down at the headless rabbit, her face unreadable.  Even though she appeared unhurt, the grimace was still firmly on Loki’s face.  First day of fatherhood and he had almost killed his child and destroyed what was sure to be her favorite toy.   _Gods end_ , he thought to himself, _why didn’t I just die when I was supposed to?_

Mistle had picked up the rabbit’s severed head and was turning it around in her hands.  Loki braced himself, sure that he was about to be pelted with a torrent of tears.  Now he was going to have to explain to Sif how he had scarred their four year old child for life.  Just as he was telling himself that he would rather throw himself off of the Bifrost (again) then face Sif’s wrath, Mistle handed him the rabbit’s head and looked up at him with big eyes.

“I know, I am sorry, I will fix this,” Loki said hastily.  He had never sewn a thing in his life, but surely it wasn’t that hard… or at the very least he could get one of the palace servants to do it.  He was reaching down to grasp the rabbit’s body when he heard the door creak.

“Father?” called a voice, and Loki froze.   _Father_.  It was still so strange hearing himself referred to in such a way, and it took him a moment to untwist his tongue before he could answer.  “Yes?”

There was a louder creak this time as the door to his bedroom opened wide and the speaker came into the room.  It was Skaldi.  Like Mistle, she was still in her bedclothes, a silken blue pants set that matched her eyes.  Her long black hair had been brushed back off of her face and secured in two thick braids that fell straight to her waist.  If Mistle was a reflection of Loki as a child (bright-eyed and ever curious), then Skaldi was a reflection of Sif: her beauty, her regalness, the confidence in her voice and the strength of her gaze.  As she walked closer to him, Loki was so struck with how much she looked like Sif as a young teenager, he had to mentally shake himself to hear what she was saying.

“My apologies for bothering you, Father, but your door was open, and I have been looking for-- _ah_.  Mistle, there you are.”

At these words, Loki felt the corners of his mouth almost twitch into a smile.  Skaldi had come to stand in front of Mistle, hands on hips, ever the responsible older sister.  “I have been looking everywhere for you--oh.”  She had spotted the rabbit.  “Aww, what happened to Mim?  How did he lose his head?”

“No idea,” Loki lied before he could stop himself.  By now, lying was almost his default reaction.

“Oh, well, no matter, I can fix him,” Skaldi replied, reaching forward to grasp the rabbit’s severed head in one hand and its body in another.  She had barely gotten a chance to inspect the pieces when Mistle tugged them back and then, curiously, placed the rabbit’s head in Loki’s hand again.

“No, wait, give them here, Mistle, I can fix it,” Skaldi repeated, but when she made to reclaim the pieces, Mistle pushed her away.

“What?  What is the matter?” Skaldi asked, perplexed.  She glanced at Loki but all he could do was shrug.  After she had tried to take back the mangled pieces but was stopped two more times, she finally gave up.

“All right, what is it?  What do you want?” Skald asked, her tone slightly firmer.  Loki could tell that she was just itching to place her hands firmly on her hips again (the responsible older sister indeed).  He had been watching this strange exchange with puzzlement until he realized that he was feeling grateful--it appeared he wasn’t the only one who was confounded by Mistle’s actions ( _and_ whose spirited disregard of anything that was asked of her seemed to extend to more than just him).

Speaking of which…

Mistle, studiously ignoring her sister, was back to holding the now-headless rabbit by the arms and dancing him across the bed again.

“So you do not want Mim repaired?” Skaldi asked.

Still not looking at her, Mistle nodded.

“You want Mim to remain headless?”

Another nod.

“And you want Father to keep the head?”

At this, Mistle didn’t respond.  Instead, she snatched the toy’s head out of Loki’s hand and… placed it _back_ into his palm with a flourish, as if she was bequeathing him a rare and wondrous gift.

Loki and Skaldi looked at each other in puzzlement.

“So… you just want the body?” Skaldi asked.  Mistle response was to raise the rabbit’s right arm and make it “wave” to them.  Skaldi snorted.  Then she smiled.  

“You are so strange, little monster,” she teased playfully.  And then she was tickling Mistle and Mistle was giggling again and Loki was sitting there with a somewhat confused smile on his face but it was a smile nonetheless.  He didn’t want to believe it, and maybe he didn’t even deserve to, but…

Maybe, just maybe, he _was_ the father to these two strange, beautiful creatures after all.

Skaldi had gathered Mistle up in her arms and had turned and taken a few steps before she stopped and looked back.

“Are you coming, Father?”

Oh.  Was he supposed to be somewhere?  “To where?” he asked.

Skaldi seemed to scrutinize him for a moment before responding with a cheerful smile.  “Breakfast.”

_Oh_ , Loki thought again.  That was not what he was expecting.  Even though he was still feeling a flurry of competing emotions, the thought of something as simple and ordinary as sitting down to have breakfast was oddly invigorating, so he rose from the bed without pause.  After stopping to fish out a robe from his closet, he followed his daughters as they led him towards the dining hall.

Breakfast was winding down when they arrived.  A half-eaten spread of fruits, bread, and cheese covered the large wooden table, and all the chairs were empty, except for two near the opposite end.  There sat Thor and Amora, scrunched so close together they were almost in each other’s laps.  Thor was chuckling at something Amora had said and eating a piece of bread at the same time when he spotted Loki.  “There you are, brother,” he said, his voice much louder than it should be so early in the morning.  “Come, eat.  I saved you a bite.”

“ _I_ saved our majesty food, you mean,” Amora teased, pointing at herself.  Smiling, she turned to Loki.  “He wanted the last of the milk rolls, but I made him save them for you and the girls.”

Thor’s snort was so robust it blew out the candle in front of him.  “Did I not say ‘bite?’”

Loki hid a grin as he settled into a chair next to Mistle and Skaldi.  He accepted a plate from Amora… and suddenly found his hunger gone.  With an air of nonchalance, Thor had relit the candle with a snap of his fingers.  If there ever was a chance for Loki to drop dead from shock, it would be now.  It appeared this Thor… could use _magic_.

“Oh, so you _were_ listening during that lesson,” Amora was saying, her eyebrow raised.   “It certainly did not seem so at the time.  You were so…”  She leaned closer and her eyes flicked up to look at Thor through her lashes.  “ _Distracted_.”

Thor smirked and his voice seemed to take on an even deeper rumble.  “Contrary to what the castle might think, I _am_ capable of doing multiple things at once.”

Now it was Amora’s turn to smile and lower her voice approvingly.  “Indeed you _can_.”

Loki’s fork fell to his plate with a clatter.  He had finally noticed the way they were looking at each other.  “You are…” he breathed, eyes wide and staring.  “You are _married_.”

There was silence at this as the pair simply stared at him in disbelief.  Then Thor snorted again.  “Unbelievable, this memory loss.  So I take it you must _also_ fail to remember the horrible speech you gave at our wedding, when you were so drunk you could barely see properly.  But worry not, dear brother, for _I_ remember it,” he said sarcastically and then began an impression of a very drunk and disorderly Loki: “‘As time passes, we inevitably all find ourselves having to ask if marriage is just a big lie we keep telling ourselves because we are afraid to die alone--’”

But Loki wasn’t listening.  “But--I thought--the Midgardian--”

“Midgardian?” Thor repeated incredulously.  “What are you going on about?  We have not laid eyes on a Midgardian for years now.”

“What?  But Midgard--”

“--was destroyed,” Thor finished evenly.  “Completely.  It is nothing but a wasteland, as dark and barren as if it were Niflheim itself.”

Loki sat back in his chair, his breathing tight.  All of Midgard, destroyed?  It couldn’t be possible…  Unconsciously, the faces of the Midgardians he had known in his universe began to flash in his head and he tried to shake them away--and failed.  “How... did it happen?” he asked finally.

“We do not know,” answered Amora.  “One day it was there, as quaint and full of life as it always has been, and then the next day everything was just… gone.  And then, the Bifrost, and poor Heimdall...”  She trailed off, shaking her head sadly.

“What?” Loki pressed.  “What happened?”

Amora, Thor, and Skaldi looked at each other, and Loki could tell that they were all still amazed that Loki didn’t remember.

“There must have been some sort of shockwave that travelled from Midgard and up through the Bifrost...” Amora began hesitantly.

Beneath the table, Loki pounded clenched fists onto the tops of his thighs.  “Amora, _please_ , just tell me.”

Amora swallowed.  Then she sighed and looked straight into his eyes.  “Whatever destroyed Midgard destroyed the Bifrost as well.”

Loki gaped at her.

“And as our dear Heimdall was at her post, she was directly in its path.”

_She?_ Loki thought.

“It is a blessing that she is still alive,” Amora continued.  “But what she lost is beyond compare.”

“What?” Loki whispered.

Amora looked at him sadly.  “Her _Sight._ ”

Silence filled the room once more, but it was heavier this time.  Loki could feel it pressing into him from all sides, covering his nose, mouth, and ears like a lethifold, making his breathing shallow and his frantically beating heart the only thing he could hear.   _Impossible_.  The Bifrost _and_ Midgard, destroyed?  Heimdall, Sightless?  His brother and Amora, married?  And he, the All-Father of an Asgard with no point of entry or return?  Madness.  It was absolute madness, and as each revelation had hit him, the old friend in his chest had felt both satiated _and_ hollow in turn, and Loki didn't know how much more of it he could take.  But there was still one thing he needed to know.

“Thor,” he began softly, his eyes to the table, “where are our parents?  Frigga?  And... Odin?”

Slowly, Loki looked up and met Thor’s solemn stare.

“Come with me,” was all he said, and Loki rose immediately.

****

Loki was standing in front of a sight he had only seen in his dreams.  A runestone, taller than he by a head and covered in red runic inscriptions etched deeply into its surface.  With Thor standing silently in the snow by his side, Loki’s eyes travelled around the stone, catching every rune in a stunned, unblinking gaze.

 

  _This stone stands in memory of he_

_Who hung from high on a windswept tree_

_Who gifted Man a horn of mead_

   _From which truer words hath not spoken_

  

_Who drove the serpent from the house_

_And spread nine pieces thereabouts_

_None greater than, there is no doubt_

_Whom all the realms are beholden_

 

_Most cherished son of Bestla and Bor_

_Father and guide to Loki and Thor_

_Now dwells in Valhalla where slain warriors go_

_Our beloved forever king Odin_

 

“Dead…” Loki whispered.  “Odin… _dead_.”

His greatest desire-- _real._

His father, the betrayer, the _liar_ , now just a name on the wind, fading into nothingness.  No longer would Loki have to suffer the pain and humiliation, the _disgrace_ that Odin had heaped onto his back the moment he stole Loki from Jotunheim.  The moment he brought Loki from one place of unwelcome to another.

“H-how?”  Loki could barely get the word out.

“Killed at Grjöttungard by Hrungnir, strongest of the clay-jotunns.  Made completely out of stone,” Thor replied quietly.  “Father was nearing the Odinsleep when news came of your imprisonment in Grjöttungard.  You had lost a wager there and failed to deliver the winnings.  Father went to arrange for your release and did not return.  But stay your worries, brother,” Thor said, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder.  “We avenged him.  That runestone was Hrungnir’s heart.”

The wind around them seemed to pick up, and Loki shivered as he drew his robe tighter around himself.  His eyes stared at the runestone as if frozen in a time loop, reading the inscription over and over.  He may not have successfully killed Odin in _his_ universe, but it appeared he did so in this one.

He should have been happy, _ecstatic_.  But… he wasn’t.  No matter how he tried to force that feeling to the surface of his mind, he couldn’t feel it.  He didn’t know why.  The pain was supposed to go away--it wasn’t supposed to _be_ here, to have _followed_ him here to this gift of a new life.  Everything was supposed to be different, better.   _Whole_.

Loki swallowed.  “And Mother?”

“If you want to talk to Mother, you need to see Heimdall,” Thor said.  “Only she can contact her.”

_Contact her?_

“Where is she?” Loki asked, puzzled.  He was talking about Frigga, but Thor misunderstood.

“Heimdall?  In the castle.  Come, I will show you.”

****

“In there,” Thor said, pointing to the lone door at the top of the castle’s northwestern most turret.  “Pray that she is already awake because if not…”  Thor shook his head, whistling low.  “She usually does not like visitors so early in the morning.”

“Mother or Heimdall?” Loki asked dryly.

Thor grinned.  “ _Both_.”  He patted a large hand on Loki’s shoulder again, then turned and started walking back down the hall.  “I will leave you be.  Give my regards to Mother,” he called lazily over his shoulder.

Loki watched him disappear down the stairs, a small frown on his forehead.  There was something strange about the offhanded way Thor kept referring to their mother.  It was like Thor was indifferent to her, and Loki had never seen him act that way before.  It was terribly unnerving, but Loki’s energy had been so zapped by the series of revelations this morning, it was as if a barrier had gone up around his mind and heart, tremulously holding back his rising panic like a dam.  He felt absolutely exhausted, but there was no sense in putting it off--he was ready to face what lay beyond the door.

And, of course, as he reached for the door handle, the door swung open on its own accord.  Loki suppressed a knowing sigh as he pushed the door open and walked inside.

The room was dark and smoky, but Loki, numb to his feelings, remained calm as he let his eyesight adjust to it.  Shafts of light falling from the narrow windows made the clouds of dust floating in the air around him look like snowfall.  As he stepped further into the room, his nose filled with a bouquet of earthy scents that were so familiar to him, he could have picked out each individual one and named it: rose for clarity of vision, hemp for meditation, chalk for pentacle drawing, boxwood for charms of protection, and on and on.  Up ahead, he felt more than saw the feather light touch of a page turn, and his fingers were suddenly itching to touch dry parchment and his ears eager to hear the sighing crack of a book as it was opened, spurring him to wonder when he had even read last.  As he neared the back of the room, he could hear breathing, old, wizened breathing that rattled and caught and rattled again like the dying engine of a Midgardian vehicle, and as he walked around a stocky stone column, he could finally see the room’s inhabitant--and couldn’t keep from staring.

It was Heimdall.  There was no mistaking it, even though the Watcher’s body was thinner and covered not in armor but in rags.  As Loki moved closer, he spied the familiar features on Heimdall’s face--the strong jawline, the full mouth--except they were slightly softer, like a statue whose edges had been gently rubbed down by an abrasive mineral.  Amora had said that she was female, and Loki could see it, but he could also see a hint of the male attributes that Loki was more familiar with.  It was an unusual look, the ambiguous melding of two distinct halves, but one that Loki had always liked, and he warmed to it immediately.  The one normal eye Loki could see was a much more muted gold than usual, but the sharp way it was looking at him was like a spark of its own, so Loki tore his attention away from the other eye (a scarred, film-covered orb of white) and stopped in front of her with a polite head nod.

“My apologies for disturbing you, Heimdall, but I was wondering if I could talk to Mother.”

Heimdall closed the book she was reading with a snap.  “My lord,” she rasped, nodding back respectively.  “And where, pray tell, has this sudden interest in speaking to our blessed Triplicate come from?  Both you _and_ your brother have not spoken to your mother in some time now.”

_Blessed Triplicate?_ Loki wondered but didn’t comment.  Instead, he said, “Precisely why I have come to you.  It has been too long and I have much to tell her.”

Heimdall fixed him with her piercing, one-eyed gaze again, and Loki wondered if she would have seen through his great ruse if she was still in possession of the Sight (and was selfishly thankful that she didn't).  Then she was shakily getting to her feet, and Loki reached out a hand to help her.

“ _Takk_ , my lord,” she murmured.  She placed a hand against the stone pillar to steady herself, then motioned for Loki to bring her a dark wooden chest on the shelf to his left.  Loki picked it up, expecting it to be heavier, but it was surprisingly light.  He made to pass it to her, but instead she pointed behind him to a simple brown altar surrounded by several lit candles.  Without a word or questioning glance, he walked over to the altar and opened the chest.  There were three items inside, and he pulled each one out and looked at it curiously before placing the item on the altar.  The first thing he grabbed was a half-woven piece of cloth, its loose threads dangling past his hands; next was a silky falcon feather, so slight his fingers might have missed it if he had simply plunged his hand blindly into the box; and finally an apple, firm to the touch and the color of bright gold.  Heimdall had him switch the places of two of the items before appearing satisfied and motioning him to step towards the middle of the room again.  By now, Loki had recognized the elements of a summoning spell, and he was surprised--could everyone in this universe use magic?  But a proper summoning spell would need a-- _ah_.  Loki had finally spied the large chalk circle beneath his feet.  It had three rings and various runic inscriptions and symbols written throughout it.  Loki’s eyes had skimmed half of the runes before Heimdall stepped closer to him and silently asked for his hands.  When her breathing slowed and she closed her eyes, Loki did the same.  Then he heard Heimdall start to chant.

_“Blessed Trinity, I beseech thee_  
_Find favor with my call_  
_From the heavens I beg thee travel_  
_And greet me in my presence._

_Three gifts I offer thee for thy journey:_

_One, an apple for Youth everlasting_  
_Who once was lost but now is found_  
_Two, a feather for a Lady most divine_  
_Whose heart beats for both love and war_  
_Three to the Mother, most cherished of the Aesir_  
_Who holds in her hands the threads of fate._

_Speak thy wisdom, beloved Triplicate_

_For thy children desire thy most holy voice.”_

Before Loki could contemplate the words, the ground fell away from him, and he opened his eyes to find himself spinning through space.  Instinctively, he started to panic, the feeling welling up in his throat, but just when he thought he might pass out, his movement slowed.  He had no idea where he was or if he had even left the tower.  But then a large figure began to blossom out of the darkness before him, and it took Loki several blinks and and a few deep, calming breaths for him to start to make sense of what he was seeing.

It was a woman, fair of skin and dressed in a flowing Asgardian gown.  Under shining auburn locks was a face that was beautifully radiant but with a spark of fierceness that reminded him of Sif.  Her hands were clasped in front of her, and between them Loki could just barely see the tip of a falcon feather.  The intense brightness of her eyes reminded him of Tuwa’s, and Loki would have looked away if it wasn't for what he spied in the shadows behind her.

_Heads_.  The woman, it appeared, had three heads.  And, strangest yet, one... was of his _mother’s_.

Loki stared at Frigga’s profile, willing his eyes not to lie to him, but, indeed, it was _her_ \--he could recognize every line on her face.  Loki had just barely gotten a look at the other head when the one in the middle started speaking, his name like honey on her lips.

“Loki, is that you?”

The way she was looking at him made heat creep up his neck, and he was so confused, he could barely speak.

“M-mother?”

“It has been so long, dear one.  We were starting to believe you had forgotten us.”

“Speak for yourself, Freya.   _I_ never thought that,” piped up the head on the left--then it surprised Loki by swivelling around to take it’s place in the middle, moving Freya’s head to the right and Frigga’s to the opposite shoulder.  Now that Loki could get a better look at this head, he could see that it was also a woman’s, with bright blonde hair and a face sparkling with youthful vitality.  Being eye level with the creature’s hips, Loki could see that her hands were now wrapped around a golden apple.

“But where is Thor?” questioned the younger head.  “You usually come together.”

“He did not want to see us, Idunn, as is always.”  Now Frigga’s head had swivelled around to occupy the middle and was looking down at Loki solemnly.  It was an expression he had only seen on his mother’s face a few times and rarely directed at him--when she was greeting foreign delegates, perhaps, or arguing with Odin or Thor.   A quick glance downwards confirmed what he had been expecting: the women's hands were now weaving together a series of thick, knotted threads, the ends dipping down into the nothingness below them.

“It is usually the same with you, Loki,” Frigga said.  “But…”  She tilted her head, looking at him shrewdly. _This_ was an expression Loki was more familiar with, and he felt a tiny bit of comfort bloom in his chest.  “You are not quite yourself today, are you?” she asked.

Loki shook his head.  There was no use lying to them.  “I am not,” he said quietly.

“How interesting,” Freya’s head drawled as it spun to the center… but was immediately pushed out of the middle by Idunn.

“Oh, stop it, Freya, you are not fooling anyone,” Idunn said with an eyeroll.  “Tuwa already told us about him.”

“You know Tuwa?” Loki questioned, surprised.

“Of course we do, child,” said Frigga, arching an eyebrow.  “He is our brother.  Is it not the same where you come from?”

The Earth Father was this deity's--his mother’s-- _brother_?  But that would mean--

Loki was shaking his head distractedly.  “No… it’s not the same.  Not hardly.”

“Hmm, intriguing,” Frigga said, though she didn’t sound intrigued at all.  “Well, child--”

All of a sudden, Loki felt a painful pulling sensation in his stomach and knew immediately that it was the summoning spell--it was dragging him back.  “No, wait!” he cried but already he was falling away and the Trinity was becoming smaller and smaller above him.  His eyes remained locked on his mother’s face until it was a mere pinprick in the dark, and then he felt his consciousness dumped unceremoniously back into his body, the body that happened to be lying on the floor of Heimdall’s room, with Heimdall herself spread out next to him, her eyes closed.  Loki groaned as he got to his feet and shakily put a hand against the stone column again to steady himself.  His heart was beating frantically in his chest, and he didn’t know if it was from the effects of the spell or from what he had just seen.  Surely, it was the former, he thought, trying to convince himself.   _Surely_ , it wasn’t because he was suddenly missing his mother--his real one (well, close enough), who was a universe away.  Who was Asgardian, plain and simple, like he was now, and not the strange, almost terrifying divine being whose presence he had all but cowered under.  Suddenly, he could see why the Thor of this universe had not been enthusiastic to come with him.

Surely, he could go back, just for a quick visit.  There had to be a way, and he would find it.  No matter how off kilter he felt or how concerned about his magic he was, he knew: _nothing_ stayed a secret from him for long.  He would find a way to push his fingers through the fabric of this reality, and…

For what seemed like the thousandth time that morning, Loki sighed and shook his head at himself.

First day of kinghood, of _freedom_ in this new life, and he was already wanting to go back.

He looked down.  Heimdall was still unconscious, worn from the spellcasting, so Loki bent to pick her up.  A quick glance around the room had him walking over to a simple bed in the corner.  Gently, he laid her down in it and pulled the covers to her chin.  There was no telling how long she would sleep (hours? days?), and Loki silently promised to visit her again soon.  After another quick look around the room, Loki left.

In the hallway, he could hear someone stomping up the stairs and hardly blinked when Thor appeared on the landing, his arm around a pile of clothes.

“How is Mother?” he asked lightly.

“An Elder god…” Loki murmured, his attention still trained on his thoughts.  “Mother... is an Elder god.”

“So same as ever,” Thor replied, blithely unconcerned.  He pushed the pile of clothes into Loki’s chest.  “Here, put these on.”

“What?  Why?”

Thor remained silent until Loki’s eyes finally focused on him and cleared.  Then Thor grinned, the smile bright and tinged with savagery.

“It is time for an execution.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of wore me out so I didn't edit it as much. Sorry if there are typos. And if you're someone who hates poems or songs in stories, this chapter probably annoyed the crap out of you so sorry about that as well. ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the rough start, guys. I've rewritten the opening scene three times now, and I'm sure it was as painful to read as it was to write. Hopefully things will pick up in the next chapter!


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